


Sanguine Seas

by princessofmind



Series: Oceanic Acculturation [2]
Category: Homestuck
Genre: Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-03-24
Updated: 2012-06-27
Packaged: 2017-11-02 11:01:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,191
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/368261
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/princessofmind/pseuds/princessofmind
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It didn't matter how real it was.  The damage done to your ears and brain are consistent only with people kept under water pressure for as long as you had been, but sea dwellers and a magnificent underwater society just isn't the explanation "rational" people are looking at.  Never mind the still-healing wound on your chest, or the fact that the stone set in your ring is worth more than your foster parents make in a year.  Never mind the small scratches on your hips or the faint black staining on your finger tips or the fact that <i>no one else has any other ideas</i>.  They think you're crazy, and despite your one physical token, the only connection you have, you're starting to think that you may be as well.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. One (Sollux)

**Author's Note:**

> Hello everyone! I've been absent for a long while, due mostly to issues in my personal life that I'm not going to go in to here. I mentioned a while back that I will be doing one-shots while I flush out the plot for Resuscitate Me Baby's sequel, and when I was scrolling through Tumblr, I found a cover of the song Halleluja and it inspired me to finally get some writing done. I'm sorry it's so short when it's been so long coming, but I'm quite happy with it. I hope you all enjoy!

Your name is SOLLUX CAPTOR and your hearing is probably never going to be the same again.

You have a hard time making out voices unless they're near to you; a muffled deep timbre or a high trill, but no words, just murmurs. Even when they're close enough to hear, the sensation isn't far off from when you would get pool water stuck in your ears and couldn't get it out. You can recognize familiar voices, and slowly, very slowly, you learn to recognize the pitch and rise and fall without being able to hear the words.

The few times you've ventured from the hospital bed, the diagnosis of your balance being shot is confirmed. Your body feels light, like if you don't hold on to something you're going to slip out the cracked window and in to the clouds hovering just out of your reach. But this makes you under-compensate for gravity and sends you sprawling more than once. You can hear the nurses whisper that it's a terrible pity that someone so young is going to spend the rest of their life walking with a cane, but what else could you expect with the kind of pressure damage his organs were subjected to?

The stark whites of the room and your hospital gown are so glaringly different from the purples and blues and pinks, luminescent and gleaming, that when flowers find their way in to your room, it loosens the knot in you stomach despite how "girly" it would be misconstrued as. You would ask the doctors for some more color, a painting, a photograph, even a shitty movie poster, but that would mean breaking your self-imposed vow of silence.

When you were resuscitated, the needle in your arm filling your veins with bliss, they asked where you had been; you'd been on the missing persons list for months, and had been given up for dead. The words poured from your mouth, the castle and the people and the cuttlefish and before you knew it they were injecting something else in to the IV bag, the dark hands of sleep hauling you mercilessly down.

The tight-knight woman who visited you every day spoke volumes about what they thought of what happened to you. She poked and prodded, asked about your relationship with your foster parents, your biological parents, your school life, everything she could think of to get the truth from you. But you just sat there, her voice little more than a hum in your damaged ears, twisting the ring around your finger until the skin was raw.

It didn't matter how real it was. The damage done to your ears and brain are consistent only with people kept under water pressure for as long as you had been, but sea dwellers and a magnificent underwater society just isn't the explanation "rational" people are looking at. Never mind the still-healing wound on your chest, or the fact that the stone set in your ring is worth more than your foster parents make in a year. Never mind the small scratches on your hips or the faint black staining on your finger tips or the fact that _no one else has any other ideas_. They think you're crazy, and despite your one physical token, the only connection you have, you're starting to think that you may be as well.

The doctors come and go, your foster parents have come once or twice (but you're pretty sure that the shrink is keeping them at bay), but no one stays except the girl who saved you.

She sits an arm chair, legs tucked up underneath her, sketch pad in her hands, talking in a voice that is just outside your ability to make out. You're almost positive she does it on purpose, but her voice sounds so sweet, almost like Feferi's, and you let it wash over you like warm water. She sounds happy, just sitting next to you while she draws or does homework or plays with her phone, babbling about inane things that neither of you seem to care about. It doesn't seem to bother her that you ignore her, eyes fixed on the window or the place where the paint has chipped off the wall to look like a spider. She becomes the only constant in your life, and one of your few pleasures.

One day, the routine changes. Your head doctor has left, the same frustrated look in her eyes at a million watts behind her stuffy brown glasses. Jade always has to leave, but she's never long in returning. She flops down in the chair, a large folder tucked under her arm that you've never seen before. She doesn't bother to get comfortable, pulling her hair from the ponytail she had it tied back in as she withdraws a thick piece of paper, setting it face down on the blankets covering your legs.

The back of the paper is slightly smudged with black; charcoals, you think. You've never gotten a good look at what she spends all her time drawing, so it's with trepidation, but mostly curiosity, that you take the paper in to your hands and turn it over.

His hair is matted to his head in a way you know that would mortify him, the purple streak not even visible in its disarray. The points of his teeth are more pronounced with the way his mouth is open, gasping for breath, and the grief in those endless purple eyes has the paper crinkling under your tightening grasp. The fins on his face are flared, just slightly, an instinct you know that rears its head when he's afraid, and you know that if his torso wasn't submerged in the aquamarine water his gills would be flaring as well.

You feel the bed dip as Jade sits next to you, her words truly audible to you for the first time. "I didn't get to see him for very long, so I'm sure there are some details wrong," she says, leaning her head against your with a soft little knock. "And I'm sure you'd prefer a happier looking picture, but I don't know if he was a very happy person to begin with, so…"

You remember the snarls and glares and exasperated sighs, mixed with his fingers soft against your face and his lips against the back of your neck, and it makes you smile despite the tears running down your cheeks. "Thank you," you whisper, and your voice is so cracked and dry from disuse that you're unsure if she heard you, but a warm arm wraps around your shoulder, and it's the first comfort you've had since you got here.

"What's it like?" she asks tentatively, and you remember that she was there when you woke up, sitting next to an elderly man with a truly fantastic mustache. There's no disbelief in her voice, no sarcasm or indulgence, just pure curiosity. She believes you. She doesn't think you're crazy or trying to make things up for attention or to hide something truly horrific. She saw him, remembers him, captured him in a way that shows that she was just as fascinated by him as he was with you.

You think of the bioluminescence in the coral, the sound of the water lapping against the floor of the Pocket. You think of the cuttlefish and the books, the colors and smells of the Concourse, the glowing orbs. You think of Feferi and her laughter, the light in her eyes and the gentle curve of her mouth. You think of Eridan, his body warm against yours, the slick-silk feel of the webbing between his fingers as it brushes against your palm.

"It's beautiful."


	2. Two (Feferi)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He doesn't look at you, and for some reason, that lights a fire in your stomach. "And who did you swear your oath to?" you ask, voice raising in pitch as you lean forward in your seat. "Did you swear it to my mother? Did you swear to follow her orders, or _mine_?"

Your name is FEFERI PEIXES and you are not a woman easily angered, but your rage has been incited.

The throne room is empty, the vastness and completeness of the silence practically makes your ears ache, but you refuse to squirm or show any discomfort. Your seat on the raised dais is anything but comfortable, but the forked design and unforgiving texture of raw coral makes you feel powerful, your back ramrod straight as you rest your hands in your lap. Instead of your customary lightweight shells, you're wearing the proper markings of your rank; the bejeweled circlet and matching collar that sits tight against your throat.

Eridan stands to your right, slightly behind the dais. His hands are clasped behind his back, hiding the cuts on his knuckles that reopen every night as he thrashes in his sleep. The circles under his eyes are almost as dark as his hair, but instead of making him look tired, he looks unsettling, focused, raw. He's not even within arms reach of you, but you can feel the heat rolling off him in waves, weaving with your nerves to fortify you.

The thin gold chains that connect your collar to your wrist cuffs clink softly as you shift, attention on the broad-chested man who knees in the middle of the room. Any advantages his size lends him is lost in the vastness of the cavern you currently sit in. Although his eye is healing, no longer swollen shut, his nose is still crooked, and you reckon it always will be. His hands are bound behind his back, but you know that it would take just the barest flex of his muscles for him to break free. Yet, despite the lack of any official guards, you don't feel in danger at all.

"I've known you for a long time, Equius." Your voice is conversational, almost gentle, but the echoes make it sound loud, carrying to him easily, and there is no disarming smile on your face. "I remember when my mother presented you to me, when we were still just children, and you swore an oath to me. Do you remember your oath?"

His head is ducked, ratty black hair falling around his face in a curtain, but you can practically feel him flinch away from your words. "I am to protect you, princess, with my very life. No harm should ever befall you, and if it is in my power to protect you, I should always do so, no matter the personal cost."

"And?"

"Although he has proven quite capable of taking care of himself," you feel your hair rustle slightly, Eridan's breath of laughter almost making you smile despite the situation, "I am to protect the empress consort, but never at the expense of your own life."

"And?"

Equius ducks his head further, the muscles in his shoulder bunching uncomfortably. "I…am to protect those who are important to the princess, but never at the expense of her or the empress consort."

You cross your legs at the ankle, the gold cuffs clacking against each other mutedly. "Were Eridan or myself in danger of being harmed by Sollux when you attacked him?"

"No, princess."

He doesn't look at you, and for some reason, that lights a fire in your stomach. "And who did you swear your oath to?" you ask, voice raising in pitch as you lean forward in your seat. "Did you swear it to my mother? Did you swear to follow her orders, or _mine_?"

"Yours, princess."

He does look up at you then, and he's biting his lower lip almost hard enough to draw blood, eyes crinkled in what you think is grief, but instead of inspiring pity, you feel bile rising in the back of your throat. He has no right to look so upset; he's not the one who lost someone they loved and someone the trusted in the same day. He wasn't the one who was betrayed and now has to sleep with her best friend because he hurts himself in his nightmares.

Eridan's hand is on your shoulder before you can even realize you've started to stand, and the angry tears are making your vision hazy. "I trusted you, Equius," and your voice is stronger than you thought it would be, cutting like glass, and the man on the floor rears back as if you struck him. "All my life, I trusted you to protect me and the people I cared for. I didn't think of you just as a bodyguard, but as a friend. And I don't know if I can continue employing your services."

"Princess," his voice cracks, and you didn't think you could hurt any more, but strong, stoic Equius managed to find the one part of you that wasn't bruised and sucker punch it. "Feferi. Your mother convinced me that I was acting in your best interest, but it is unforgivable that I did not approach you about the situation before acting. I do not deserve to continue in your service, but rest assured that I will not be lead astray again. My life is yours, even now."

You stand, despite the hand on your shoulder, and descend the steps. Your dress bunches around your knees as you rock back on your heels, sinking down to cup Equius's cheek in your hand. His face is hot and damp with tears, and your hand is chilly, but he doesn't flinch away.

"Did you want to hurt him?"

"No, princess, and I pray every night for his recovery."

You feel Eridan behind you, looking down at the two of you, crouching in the grand throne room like a couple of children, and you grasp his hand tightly when he offers it to you wordlessly. "I can't forgive you now," you say evenly. "But I honestly believe that you regret your actions, and as such, you may remain in my services."

"But if you evver," Eridan's voice is gravelly, a harshness there that hadn't been there before Sollux left, "givve me any reason to suspect that your first priority isn't Fef, I will make you wish that I'd killed you the first time."

Equius looks at Eridan, a mere acknowledgement, before his gaze returns to you. You smile, just the barest upturn of the corner of your lips, but the two of you never communicated in words. Your eyes are hard, flickering towards the door where you know Nepeta is waiting anxiously, her shells clattering furiously as she paces the hallway, and the message is clear.

Eridan would kill him quickly, but if he ever crossed you again, you would _make him suffer_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was fun to write because I'm finding two different sides of Feferi warring with each other. There's the soft side of her, the playful princess that Eridan and Sollux get to see. But then, there's this ruthless, no-nonsense empress side of her that isn't going to stand for people betraying her, no matter what her relationship to them may be. I hope I did a fair enough job conveying these two sides of here, and as always, I hope everyone enjoys!


	3. Chapter Three (Eridan)

Your name is ERIDAN AMPORA and they think you're abusing her.

Certainly, you've been more agitated and quick to anger since he left, and the two of you are rarely apart, you following her like a lost puppy or her sitting quietly on the floor next to your chair while you work. Certainly, it's weird for two people who up till recently fought like cats and dogs to be seen walking the Concourse arm in arm, both of you with circles under your eyes and hers more than a little red. She has bruises on her arms, the shape of your fingers imprinted on her skin, and more than once the magenta markings curling around her face are obscured by bruises on her cheeks.

They say you blame her for Sollux's "accident". Although the order came from the Condesce, Feferi has a reputation of being too clever for her own good; manipulative without people realizing she's bending them to her will. If she truly wanted Sollux gone, it would have been easy for her to pass the blame to someone else. It doesn't matter that she has no motive, that these same people saw the two of them traipsing from stall to stall, feeding the cuttlefish, or eating together in the restaurants.

You know what it looks like, and you know she does too. But she doesn't stop coming to your room at night, slipping behind you and holding your wrists in her tiny hands. She's always warm, even when the water around the two of you has cooled for the evening, and her hair is almost always in your mouth when you wake up, but even though it doesn't make the nightmares go away, it does make them easier to bear.

Her mother dominates your sleeping life, taking her anger out on you if you're lucky, but on Sollux if you aren't. She always smiles, her lips drawn back to show every pearly white in her mouth, her long fingernails caked with blood. She's creative, even in your subconscious, and his shrieks, hoarse and choked, wake you up thrashing. It's fortunate for the both of you that all Feferi has walked away with is a few bruises; you're strong enough to break her bones when you're in that place between sleep and wakefulness.

Her face is unmarred, and the purpling bruises from three nights ago are lost within the folds of her ceremonial robes. The maids are fussing, trying to dry her face so they can dust it with gold powder, accenting her crown, collars and chains. But her hands are trembling her in lap, teeth gnawing her bottom lip as tears stream silently down her face.

Your uniform feels too tight, and she looks entirely too small as you kneel in front of her, taking her cold fingers between yours. The crown you wear was only just finished, curving slightly to rest against your forehead in order to fit over your horns. Your amethysts clink softly against her garnets when you lean your forehead against hers, and she draws a shaky breath and tries to smile.

The entire kingdom is waiting for the two of you in the throne room just outside the doors, clad in their finery and smiles on their faces. The two of you knew that this wasn't a day you were looking forward to, and although there's sorrow in how your relationship became so strong, you feel no trepidation, and her skin warms and her grip becomes firmer in your hands.

"I wanted him to be here too."

And it may seem weird, to want your lover to be present at your wedding to his best friend and your betrothed, but you know he would have been sitting between Kanaya and Nepeta, twirling your ring around his finger as you and Feferi ascend the dais together, and you would have reassured him with kisses later in the evening, stolen in an empty conference room during the reception. He would have danced with her, twirling and dipping and maybe even lifting her above his head, her shrieking with giggles as her hair covers them both.

It hurts, raw and deep, and that stupid part of you wanted to postpone the ceremony, to hold on to your childish hope that he'll come back, but you and Feferi both agreed that it would be best to ascend to the throne as quickly as possible. It had been just a whisper in the back of your minds, hers brought about by the plight of her people, yours by her threats and eery smile, and solidified by her unwarranted actions against an innocent person.

The Condesce needed to be removed, before someone else could suffer the same hell as the two of you.


End file.
